


I'd Like You For Christmas

by ohatotem



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Facials, Fuck Or Die, M/M, No Entity AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohatotem/pseuds/ohatotem
Summary: When Michael Myers kills a mall Santa and wears his clothes, he is made to play the part by Dwight the elf, who thinks he’s the last-minute replacement. Unfortunately for Dwight, Myers has taken an interest in him.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Michael Myers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	I'd Like You For Christmas

Santa was late. The kids were beginning to get restless in the center of the mall while waiting for their favorite jolly, big-bellied gift giver to greet them with a Merry Christmas from his throne high above a large slope with slides built on either side of them. It was a replica of one from a well-known Christmas movie Dwight had seen enough times to quote word for word and not because he enjoyed it that much.

The green and red sweater he wore was itchy, the false elf ears were too tight, and the bells were the worst part. Every little movement Dwight made turned him into a walking noise machine, directing all attention towards the ringing, dinging, shiny elf. Seven-twenty-five an hour wasn’t much, but at least he got free coffee from the coffee shop in the mall for playing his part.

He finished off his caramel macchiato and checked the time on his phone before deciding he should go find his co-worker, who was playing Santa Clause, himself before he ended up on the receiving end of their manager’s wrath.

Leaving the break room, Dwight made his way to the parking garage, to the spot where he knew his co-worker usually parked. The guy wasn't known for being on time, but it had been over an hour already. If only he'd thought to get his cell number, but the two of them weren't that close, and it was only a seasonal job. Next year would be a different Santa, and he'd have no use for the number anymore.

When the elevator arrived on his floor and opened, Dwight’s blood ran cold at the sight of a tall, white-faced masked man in a Santa Clause costume. Dwight could only stare, taken aback, but quickly snapped himself out of It. Maybe his co-worker had called in sick.

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago,” said Dwight, but he was relieved to see someone had finally shown up.

The man gave no resistance as Dwight grabbed him by the arm and led him towards the stage. Dwight got a weird vibe from the guy, maybe it was just his mask, but his complete and utter silence was another red flag. He wondered if it was a way he got into character, preparing himself before he started acting all jolly and full of laughter and cheer. Some people had their quirks; a Santa one year had to meditate before going out there. Whatever helped them get through it, he supposed.

As they reached the stage curtain, Dwight paused, remembering that he was wearing that creepy mask; that thing was going to terrify the kids. Dwight didn't like conflict, but he couldn't let him go out there like that.

"Hey, um, you should take off that mask."

The man ignored him but looked in Dwight's direction to acknowledge that he had, in fact, heard him. When Dwight tried to remove the mask, his wrist was grabbed so forcefully that he thought it would break. He released his hold on the mask immediately.

"Sorry, it's just…"

Sighing, Dwight retrieved the last of the Santa Clause costume: the hat, glasses, and the beard. When the man refused to budge from his spot, Dwight led him again by the arm. Whatever the man's problem was, it wasn't any of his business; he just wanted to get the show on the road before the kids decided to start throwing things and drag Santa out themselves.

From far away, Dwight thought the parents might not be able to see that Santa Clause was wearing a mask, and as long as the kids got to meet Santa before Christmas, then everything should be alright with everyone involved. He doubted the kids would really know the difference anyway.

The moment Santa sat down in his velvet and golden laced chair, the children began to cheer, but Dwight got the feeling the parents were happier that he'd finally arrived. Unfortunately, it didn't take long for people to notice the mask. The first mother with her toddler, who looked to be about two, paused when she saw him, looking uncertain as she held onto her child's hand before she could be lifted into his lap. Dwight had to think quick on his feet.

"Santa's feeling a bit under the weather, so he has to wear this for now. It's still the same Santa Clause under there!" Dwight said, his voice so loud that he annoyed himself.

The mother still looked doubtful but placed the toddler into Santa's lap. The second her butt touched his leg, she started to scream and reach for her mom. It wasn't unusual for kids to do that; there was something about sitting on Santa's lap that just terrified some of the kids.

"Oh, gee-willikers, it's okay, little girl! Look-see what I have for you," said Dwight, grabbing one of the many treats from his chest of goodies next to the throne. It didn't stop the girl from crying or clinging to her mom, but she did take the lollipop. The little girl wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket as her mother laughed a bit.

"I'm sorry, she's not usually like this," she said.

"That's alright; Santa just wants to know what you want for Christmas, little one."

"Tell Santa what you want for Christmas, sweetie," the mother said, rocking her gently. When the girl didn't respond, not that a two-year-old was capable of much coherent speech to begin with, she answered for her. "She wants that coco doll from that t.v show."

"Then we'll be sure she gets it! Merry Christmas!"

Dwight waved as she left, but the mother stole another cautionary glance towards the Santa. She'd probably bring it up to someone in management, but he was thankful she didn't cause a scene and bring things to a crawl.

He wished Santa would have said something to help calm the child, but the man had just sat there, staring at the screaming toddler as if he'd never seen a child crying before. Dwight didn't blame the kid for being scared of him, though. That mask was strange, to say the least. It would be more suited for Halloween than Christmas. 

The rest of the kids were pretty behaved, sitting silently and took their picture without much resistance after telling the ever-silent Santa what they wanted for Christmas. The man just looked at them as they sat on his lap. A surprising number of kids didn’t even notice or care that he was wearing the mask. The second they were up on the platform, they began babbling about what they wanted for Christmas as if nothing were out of the ordinary. That made the job go by quicker, and Dwight could focus on his elf act.

The substitute Santa tilted his head, looking at Dwight, appearing to be interested in Dwight's performance. He couldn't tell due to the mask, but the man displayed an almost child-like curiosity he'd seen in many of the others around them.

The kids loved his hand puppets and the sound he made when he danced around to make the bells on his outfit jingle. It seemed to take some of the attention away from Santa’s mask whenever they reached him. Dwight tried to do the talking and the acting since Santa wasn’t. The parents had started to get too tired to question Santa's behavior, allowing their kids to begin spilling their wishlist or cry. When they'd finished, Dwight would offer up another ration of candy and send them on their way after he snapped a photo for the parents. The masked man wasn’t the worst Santa he’d ever worked with. At least this one hadn’t fallen asleep or gotten angry at one of the kids. Or worse of all, they would start to flirt with the parents.

By the time the line was gone entirely, it was already ten o’clock, and the mall had long since closed. Dwight collapsed on the fluffy, cotton covered floor and breathed a huge sigh of relief, thankful that that would be the last time he’d ever have to do that again. At least for the year.

"So," Dwight said, looking up at the man who hadn't moved from his spot or said a single word the entire night, "What do you want for Christmas?"

The man stood, towering over him since Dwight was sitting on the platform floor. His chest tightened with unease. Everyone but himself and the man were gone; Dwight was left with the silence and mystique of the stranger, whose intentions were unclear as he came closer.

Looking at him, it became suddenly and irrevocably clear to him who this man was, and why the mask had unnerved him so much. He’d been in such a rush trying to get everything together that he hadn’t noticed before. There was no doubt in his mind though, that that was the same Michael Myers described on the news. Dwight got off the floor, wiping the pieces of cotton that clung to his clothes and bells. He laughed nervously.

“Well, that’s my cue. My shift’s over, so, uh, nice meeting you?”

Dwight extended a hand to shake his, but Michael Myers only ever-so-slightly tilted his head to the side, his eyes never leaving Dwight's face. He wasn't sure if he even noticed he was holding his hand out to him, but Dwight tried to remain calm, hoping that if he acted normal that Myers wouldn’t kill him.

Michael Myers took a step forward, and Dwight took a step back until he was at the platform's edge, which was about ten feet off the ground for the slides. Myers was far too close for comfort as Dwight peered down at the fluffy cotton bottom, his lip beginning to quiver.

“H-hey, this isn’t funny.”

Myers looked at the floor below the platform and then back at him. Dwight sensed it was coming before it happened, but he was still unable to prevent himself from falling when the Myers nudged him just enough to make him lose his balance.

Dwight fell from the platform and onto the pile of fake snow below with a grunt. Thankfully it was padded for the safety of the kids, but it still knocked the wind out of him as he hit the floor with a grunt. After catching his breath, Dwight looked at the stage to see if he were still there, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Dwight hesitated, scanning the area around him before eventually pulling himself to his feet when he didn't see him anywhere. He hurried to the employee locker room before that could change. Even if that had only been a prank, he could have been seriously injured if that padding hadn't been there, or worse - hit his head on something hard enough to kill him. But strangely enough, Dwight didn't get the feeling that he wanted to kill him just yet. It felt like he was playing with him.

As Dwight entered the locker room to retrieve his keys and wallet, Michael Myers had already beaten him there. Dwight recoiled when he saw him, standing there still dressed as Santa Clause, but without the accessories, which lay on the floor at his feet. Dwight's heart skipped a beat, uncertain if he really wanted to go in there with an infamous serial killer. Unless he wanted to walk all the way home in below temperature weather, he needed his keys.

"Y-you're here," Dwight said, attempting to calm himself down as he entered the room. "That wasn't very nice...W-what you did."

The moment the sentence left his lips, he regretted saying anything. It felt as if he were antagonizing Myers, and that was the last thing that he knew he should be doing in his given situation.

 _Please don’t murder me_ he thought, cautiously approaching the locker where he kept his belongings.

Michael Myers approached him from behind as he closed the door, and when Dwight felt his presence and heard his breaths, stifled by the mask, he whipped around, finding himself nearly backed against the locker by his build.

Dwight had had enough. Against his better judgment, he shoved Michael Myers by the chest as hard as he could. At least, he'd attempted to. Myers was heavy, barely moving an inch, although Dwight had pushed him relatively hard. It was like trying to open a door underwater.

Myers snatched Dwight by the wrists and pinned them forcefully against the steel locker, bruising his wrist bones as they knocked against the metal. Dwight winced and inhaled sharply.

“What do you want from me?” Dwight demanded, incapable of hiding the tremble in his voice as he attempted to speak.

All was silent except the sound of Myers breathing behind his mask. Dwight could barely see his brown eyes through the eye shaped-holes, staring at him with complete indifference, yet clearly, he wanted something.

As Dwight began to struggle against his grip, Michael Myers all but jerked him away from the locker before tossing Dwight onto one of the white felted benches, which, thankfully, had a low rising back to prevent him from falling off. Dwight snatched the mustard yellow throw pillow and hit him against the chest with it. There was no reaction.

“Say something!”

The dread of not knowing what he was thinking of doing to him was more terrifying than the thought that he might actually kill him. Dwight went to stand, gritting his teeth, but Myers’s heavy hands forced him back down on the bench. That’s when Dwight noticed the tenting of the man’s red and white trousers. Dwight swallowed and looked up at him, regretting not calling the police or fleeing the building when he had the chance.

Michael Myers didn’t move, his breathing becoming accelerated behind his mask as he reached his hand beneath the belt of his trousers, retrieving a kitchen knife from somewhere inside. Dwight’s blood ran cold. The tenting was gone.

Dwight went to dart from the couch again, but Myers snatched him by the throat and pinned him against the bench, placing the blade just above eye level as his emotionless white-masked face peered down at him.

“I-I’m sorry, whatever I did, I’m sorry!”

Dwight felt helpless, unsure of what he could do to get out of the situation he'd now found himself in. He started to think about all the things he'd left unfinished in his life, all the things he'd never got to do or try. He was too young to die dressed as an elf in a locker room.

Michael Myers trailed his kitchen knife along Dwight's jawline at a painfully slow pace. It felt kind of nice, tickled a bit, but the thought of the man cutting him open left him tense.

When the knife lifted from his face, Dwight opened his eyes to see that his trousers were tented again. Myers's crotch was so close to his face that he wanted to turn away from it, but he was scared of making any sudden movements. There was no doubt in his mind that Michael Myers was getting off on whatever game he was playing. Dwight's heart pounded heavily against his chest, his mind racing as he tried to think of what he could do to fight back. There wasn't anything to use as a weapon, and against his own pride, he decided to take a risk he otherwise wouldn't if he hadn't been in his current situation.

Dwight cupped Michael Myer’s cock beneath his soft, red trousers, groping him with slow, cautious movements. Myers was already firm in his hand, but he had no reaction to being touched outside of briefly looking down at his hand and then back at him again. Dwight hoped it was a sign that he was interested.

“May I ... sit up?” Dwight asked, meeting Myers’s blank stare.

Myers released his grip on Dwight's throat, allowing him to sit up. Dwight slid his hand along Myers's bulge before taking hold of the waistband of his trousers and easing them down just enough for his cock to be exposed. Again, no reaction as he held his knife at his side, watching Dwight as he took his firm cock in his hand at the base, steadying it with his thumb. Hesitating, Dwight was unsure how to even begin giving a blow job; he'd never given one and certainly never received one either. However, he knew he'd had to figure it out quick before Myers got impatient and killed him for not cooperating.

Clumsily, Dwight brought the head of his cock to his mouth and wrapped his lips around it. He paused a moment before he began to use his tongue, slowly and tentatively beginning to bob his head with careful movements. He tasted like sweat and skin, but the smell of his musk was more overpowering than any other aroma. It was the least of his concerns as he stole another glance at the knife to his right. Now wasn’t the time to be picky.

Giving head was tiring; his jaw was already beginning to feel sore by the time he'd taken half of Myers’s cock in his mouth. However, judging by the sound of his ragged breaths and the way his free hand gripped Dwight's shoulder, squeezing tighter occasionally, Dwight figured he was doing a decent job.

The bells on Dwight's sweater jingled with every movement of his body, filling the silence with festive sounds that clashed with the sound of slurping and the occasional gag when Dwight took a little more than he could handle. Michael Myers didn't seem to mind one way or the other.

He stroked the base of Myers's cock as he finally managed to get most of it in his mouth without choking, beginning to enjoy how he tasted and felt in his mouth. The act was almost fun, and if he kept his eyes closed and imagined he wasn't being forced to do it, Dwight thought he might actually like to give head more in the future. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn't deny that being held at knifepoint and made to suck his cock hadn't turned him on a little bit, but he was terrified of what would happen once Myers was finished with him.

To give his jaw a break, Dwight removed his cock from his mouth and used his free hand to stroke him instead. His hand glided effortlessly along his shaft, thanks to the amount of saliva that coated it.

Dwight looked up at Myers, panting heavily as he tried to spot any kind of expression, or emotion, behind the mask, but outside of the occasional sigh and choked moan, which was muffled by the mask, Michael Myers was silent.

Michael Myers abruptly gripped Dwight tight around the throat, causing Dwight to release his hold on his cock and grip at Myers's wrist with both hands, struggling to pull it away. Once Dwight's hands had left his cock, Myers released his grip on his throat and started to masturbate furiously as he held the knife far too close to Dwight's neck for comfort. Dwight knew he shouldn't move a muscle as the man soon finished on his face with a moan that was closer to a snarl. Dwight quickly closed his eyes as come splattered his eyelid. It ran down his painted rosy-red cheeks from the bridge of his nose and stopped just above his upper lip.

Dwight didn’t dare move, but he opened his clean eye and looked at Michael Myers, who had already pulled his pants back up. He was staring at Dwight, his breathing still irregular but slowing down, but he hadn't removed the knife from Dwight's neck.

“Are… are you going to kill me now?” Dwight asked, his voice sounded so small to his own ears.

As usual, only silence was his response as Michael Myers appeared to be either thinking or studying him, likely admiring his handiwork before he would inevitably slit his throat. However, Myers didn't. Instead, he turned for the exit, evidently finished with what he'd wanted from him.

Dwight got to his feet with shaky legs, retrieved his belongings from his locker, and left the building before Myers could change his mind. Once safely in his car, he breathed a sigh of relief and rested his head against the steering wheel, gripping it so tight his knuckles turned white. He couldn't stop trembling, but he was thankful to be alive.


End file.
